


New Segment

by sugarby



Series: Taletober [4]
Category: Donut County, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Conversation, Drabble, Fake Episode, Interview, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: Cecil only knows so much—what's decided in prophecies and his notebook he never remembers writing in—but he's sure he'll commit a murder. And that's illegal. Teeth gritting at the repressed urge to do so, Cecil says, "Kevin. Why. Don't you. Tell listeners. A little bit. About yourself."(Or: the radio show begins a new segment with Kevin as the first guest).





	New Segment

**Author's Note:**

> I'm busier this year so I'm hardly partaking in my October writing project, but I managed this little piece out and it's better than nothing. Written for the first prompt 'misfortune' I noted down after my painful/numbing trip to the dentist.

The yet to be seen but no less intimidating collective that makes up Station Management advises something to be done, and it must be. Their words are law—unintelligible sputtering and frightening hisses that aren't to be disobeyed. Not while they can dismiss employees; not while they terrify them.

Cecil hasn't the courage to face them directly. Gathered enough to plead for time off work to visit Carlos when he was trapped in the desert other-world, but nothing much else. Scribbles on paper notes get passed under the door every so often as a means of communicating with them, but this time he was tapped on the shoulder by the new intern who relayed Station Management's suggestion for a new radio segment.

It's doable. Impulsive, a catastrophic loose screw in the commonality of the radio, but doable all the same. Cecil tells himself so repeatedly while he nods along to the points on the note: 

> _. retrieve guest (preferably new in town and suspicious, and preferably with a fishing net). _
> 
> _.  ~~drag~~  invite guest into studio and  ~~interrogate~~  interview them . _
> 
> _. order two dozen donuts from that new place; they're tasty! _

Cecil's brow quirks up, "Is this last one supposed to be on here?"

The new intern, standing in the corner and undoubtedly flicking their hands out in practice of dark magic, hasn't been working in the studio long. They only just graduated from having 'INTERLOPER' hailed their way on every street corner, so they aren't knowledgable enough to know what Station Management's conscious is legitimately serious about. Their continuous existence, they'll guess, which apparently involves consuming donuts. "Didn't ask but if it's on there, I mean...sure?"

And that sounds legitimate enough to Cecil.

To get the segment going, it's mentioned beforehand. So before a show nears it end for the evening, Cecil introduces Station Management's suggestion and encourages volunteers. Three residents in total volunteer but two end up being unable to show: John Peters (you know, the farmer) with an agricultural emergency, and Old Woman Josie dedicating her free time to comfort Erika after her upsetting dispute with Erika.

The remaining volunteer happens to be his infamously chipper doppelgänger.

It's better than having Steve Carlsberg on the show instead, maybe, Cecil considers.

But, ultimately, it's actually not.

"Listeners, tonight we begin a new segment and...we have a guest." Cecil's sighs—long like the occasional duplicate weekends—and listeners know tonight's show will be a little different—which says a lot considering the regular irregularities of the town that most residents tend to overlook through familiarity or force. "You might remember he temporarily took over the show during the StrexCorp take-over. He's also my doppelgänger."

The guest giggles eagerly, a climb then fall in pitch and balance before an echoing tremor in the studio.

"Kevin." Cecil says flatly rather than hyping listeners up, impatiently telling them to guess but swearing they never will before he can't hold the guest's identity in any longer. Disappointment in place of the enthusiasm he usually showers guests and new interns in—with their normal teeth, irrational fears of reporting out on the field, and unexplained absences.

"Hello, Night Vale! It's so lovely to be here!" Kevin joyfully says in to the mic, hands out and shaking uncontrollably like a theatre-fan. "To think I'm actually on your radio show!" he exaggerates the gasp of a long-term fan, "Wouldn't it be cool, Cecil, if this became a recurring thing? You and me! Huh?" He nudges an elbow in to Cecil's side, "Huh?!" and again.

Cecil only knows so much—what's decided in prophecies and his notebook he never remembers writing in—but he's sure he'll commit a murder. And that's illegal. Teeth gritting at the repressed urge to do so, Cecil says, "Kevin. Why. Don't you. Tell listeners. A little bit. About yourself."  
  
"Ooh, I'd love to! My name's Kevin— _never_ Kev." Where an explanation as to why would be appreciated, there's just ominous silence. "I'm from Desert Bluffs, where I had my own radio show, and it was great! Oh, and I love cats. But who doesn't, right?"

Cecil easily thinks of people who are allergic, "Uh, well—"

Kevin viciously snaps, "Heartless people, that's who!"  
  
"Then you must be excited to meet Koshekh, the floating cat in the men's bathroom here."  
  
"Already did, Cecil, and he's a neat little kitty. I even took his picture."  
  
"And you're...okay?"  
  
"Well I could see how shy he was by the hissing and glowing eyes, but I told him how unhappy his being unhappy would make me and that we'd both be much happier if I was happy."  
  
"Right, but...he didn't do _anything_ to you?"  
  
"Oh, stop it, Cecil. I know you're trying to haze me in to this."  
  
"Hazing is something you do in college and I graduated years ago in...never mind. So, you happy to a resident of Night Vale?"  
  
"Sure am! It's a cozy, little town we've got here. And by the way, you’re a great radio host, Cecil. Don’t know if anyone’s ever told you that—”

“They have. On many occasions.”

“Good." Kevin nods, starts tapping Cecil's knee closest to him like he needs comforting from a heavy dismissal, "It’s important to know how good or _not good_ you are at something. So people don’t get the wrong idea and waste their short lives on meaningless things.”

"Right..." Cecil pushes back in his chair, out of reach of the strange affection. "Tell us something you like about Night Vale. Particularly new.”  
  
"There’s this new restaurant called Cat Soup. It looks like a slow cooker and inside is a little kitchen being run by one of those birds that bend down then back up, then back down then back up. The secret ingredients are three shakes of pepper, two shakes of salt, and maybe a cockroach or two—or three. You should try it. Maybe Carlos would like to as well; test it for science stuff too."  
  
"I'm sure  _my boyfriend_  and I would like that. Speaking of Carlos, he and his team of scientists are currently trapped about ninety feet underground. They ordered donuts and then a giant hole in the ground came and swallowed up their entire lab while they were inside."

Kevin's hands go to his gaping mouth, "Oh my, that's terrible!"

"But we shouldn't worry too much. Carlos assured me that he and his team are investigating and working on a way out.”

“If anyone can escape a ninety-foot hole sent by a shady donut company, it's our Carlos!"

"Yes. Carlos,  _my_  boyfriend"

“Be careful when you go out, Cecil. With the influx of racoons that have entered the town and all.”

“Oh, of course. The racoons, listeners, moved here recently and have set up their own delivery business. They claim to sell donuts but witnesses say that they’ve never received any.”

“And, Cecil, when customers called in to complain to customer service, it didn’t exist. I tried myself. Wanted to leave a very unhappy voicemail and ask about the location of the racoon manager so I could pay him a visit and... _chat_. But nothing. It’s very upsetting. More so than having your entire home swallowed up by a large whole.”

“That’s unlikely. I mean, losing your home with all your belongings and precious memories is just awful.”

“How would you know, Cecil? You don’t remember a lot from your past.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“No, you wouldn’t. But I’m here, Cecil, and I can help you see that it is relevant.”

“...Okay.”

“And to assure you, listeners, that even if your homes with your belongings and your loved ones are swallowed up, even if what you want isn’t what you get, everything in the end is relevant.” It's normal that there's no response from the listeners, but when too much time has passed in the silent company, Kevin half-apologetically asks, "Was that too deep for you?”

“No..." Cecil's show has gotten deep a few times itself—in fact, it's more than just a show. It brings the community together with emotion and relatable matters. His voice falls into ears and settles worries—albeit for the short time until the next supernatural catastrophe. "I just wasn’t expecting that to come from you.”

Kevin grins, splintered teeth in clear view, “There’s a lot about me you can’t expect, Cecil.”

**Author's Note:**

> Today’s weather was _Copycat_ by _Billie Eilish_. Today’s Proverb: _'I look in the mirror and smile but sometimes my reflection doesn’t smile back. I think it's broken.'_
> 
> And yes, I threw _Donut County_ in to this. Play it and you’ll see it’s literally a town like Night Vale!


End file.
